Fear's Secrets
by Northern Goshawk
Summary: What is it about Jesse that makes him such a formidable opponent? Perhaps the name he once had as well as the grief and the darkness of his past. (Possible trigger warnings, I don't know. Read at own discretion.) Oneshot


**A/N For those of you who had read ****_The Darkness Within_****, you'll know that this is 2 chapters put together, titled "Formido's Secrets." I decided to add a little bit more, making this a oneshot as well as a reference for upcoming stories involving Formido**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

His first memory of Furorem was when they met each other when Jesse was running from a zombie.

How ironic, that his former best friend-turned-mass murderer first started out as a beginner, the same as him. Ironic. That's what it was.

Back then, he was known as Jeremiah, the loser living in the corner of the neighborhood. The orphan with only his twin sister, barely getting by. The bullied runt.

He didn't remember falling or tripping. All he remembered was staring at the lumbering corpse, fear threatening to burst his heart. He had squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for death. Then, there was a groan of pain, and Jeremiah felt a sudden burst of wind as the zombie combusted into dust. He had cracked an eye open and saw the teen in front of him.

The teen had brown hair, close-cropped in such a way that made him look cool. He had blue-gay eyes and wore a teal shirt and dark blue jeans. He held out his hand, his eyes guarded as he examined Jeremiah. "That was quite the fall," he had remarked wryly.

Jeremiah accepted the hand, which hauled him up. "Th-thank you," he had stuttered. The teen waved him off.

"Eh, no worries," he said, shrugging. "I save people all the time. No biggie."

"Well, all the same, thank you," Jason repeated, breathing out.

The teen squinted at him. "Say, you're that kid I see around the neighborhood all the time. Whatcha doin' out here, all alone?"

Jason shifted uneasily. "I don't have any parents to go home to," he muttered. His parents' deaths were still fresh in his mind. "Only a twin sister."

"Oh." The teen nodded his head, looking sympathetic. "That's…oh."

"Yeah…" Jason sighed.

"Well…" The teen seemed to shift on his feet, as if unsure of himself. "I guess we could look out for each other?" He said this more like a question, but Jason immediately felt touched by the lone teen's offer. Seeing his savior alone and despondent more than urged Jeremiah to give him company.

"Yes!" he declared, causing the teen to blink, presumably by Jeremiah's excitement.

The teen grinned. "Great!" He paused for a moment. "What's your name, kid?"

"J-Jeremiah," he stammered, taken off-guard by his sudden question. The teen nodded, sticking out a hand.

"Brine." He grinned. "But those are lame names. Ordinary, amirite?"

Jeremiah was a little off-put by Brine's remark. "But my parents gave me that name," he protested. "That's the only thing I have of them…"

Brine shrugged. "Eh, it doesn't sound ferocious or fear-inspiring."

"Okaaay…" Jeremiah was unsure of what to think of the teen. There was something about him, some aura that seemed to scream _Danger!_ But Jason desperately needed someone, _anyone_, who could support him emotionally. Brine seemed to be the right choice.

If Jesse could go back in time, he would go back to this moment, yell at his younger self to not trust _this maniac of a person, don't fall for his schemes-_, but he can't alter the past now, can he?

"I know," Brine suddenly announced, clapping his hands together with a wicked grin. "Call me Furorem."

Jeremiah blinked, caught off-guard. "Why Furorem?"

"It's Latin for 'anger,' " Brine explained. He shrugged. "Also, it sounds cool."

"Awesome," Jeremiah breathed. He couldn't deny that he admired Brine's-er, Furorem's-new name. "What should my name be?"

Furorem tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…" He snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up with an idea. "I know! How about Formido for you?"

Jeremiah frowned. "Why's that?"

"We'll be a duo! 'Formido and Furorem!' Fear and Anger!"

Jeremiah-now Formido-grinned at the idea. "I like that. Makes me sound tough. Not like, y'know, a loser."

Furorem nodded. "I know what you mean," he sympathized. "But together, we could be unstoppable!" There was a gleam in his eye that Formido couldn't interpret. But Jesse now knew what that gleam was; lust for battle.

Formido had smiled, thrusting out his hand. "Friends 'til the end?"

Furorem accepted it, grinning warmly. "Friends 'til the end."

* * *

_Three years later…_

He had been 9 years old back then. For a 12-year-old, he was especially strong physically and tough mentally.

Jessalyn, Jessi for short, came along with them when they jumped a portal to a new world, where there was plenty of schools to help them sharpen their battle skills. It was known as Hypixel's Empire, where millions live under Hypixel's rule. Happily, might he add.

In the end, they both settled for a school that taught how to harness special powers, as well as old-fashioned sword-fighting and martial arts. It was called Warlords. Together, they quickly moved up the ranks with their class and specialization. Furorem had chosen to be a Berserker, fitting his name. Formido, on the other hand, had chosen to be a Defender, Furorem's counterpart. Normally, it would take five years until students graduated. For the duo, it only took them three.

Then they were thrown into their first battle.

All Jesse could recall was flashes of blood, blood everywhere. Chaos reigned, coupled with the screams of the dying. He still had nightmares from that battle. What scared him most, however, was the hysterical laughter that rang through the air as the fighting raged on. Formido had been unsure of who it was back then. But Jesse knew.

It was the first glimpse of Furorem's true colors.

Furorem had strutted back into their tent, grinning widely with a maniacal gleam in his eye. "That. Was. Awesome!" he roared, pumping his bloodstained fist into the air. Formido nearly threw up at the sight of Furorem's hand.

Formido shuddered. "So much blood…"

Furorem's smile dropped as he studied his buddy. "Hey, are you alright?"

Formido straightened, forcing his body to stop shaking. He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, just…" He breathed out. "There was so much blood…"

Furorem frowned, the maniacal gleam disappearing in their depths. "What, are you a wimp?" he challenged. "Blood is something that happens in wars. It's natural." His eyes narrowed, the friendliness vanishing. "Are you _scared_ of blood?"

Formido shook his head frantically. "N-no, no-"

" 'Cause it sounds an awful lot like you do," Furorem drawled, sneering at Formido.

Formido shifted. "I-I just need time-"

"For what?" Furorem thrust his face into Formido's, his eyes full of a raging fire that Formido had seen before but never thought would be directed at him. "I didn't need any time at all. I mean, look at me!" Furorem withdrew, spreading his arms in a _ta-da!_ gesture.

"Yeah, but…" Formido grasped for a suitable excuse. "I'm only, like, 12. You're, what, 19?" He prayed his excuse would work.

Furorem's expression eased, though the fire within his eyes didn't exactly flicker out. "Sorry," he apologized, though Formido suspected that he didn't really mean it.

That night, listening to Furorem's familiar snoring, Formido silently vowed to never show his emotions as transparently as he did that day. Formido had thought that Furorem's outburst was because the former was weak. But Jesse knew the real reason.

Furorem didn't care about him.

* * *

When Formido was 14, Furorem killed Jessi because of him.

Over the years, Formido had conditioned himself to shut his emotions in the wall he had carefully built up. Because of this, he began tolerating killing other people, reasoning that they were the enemy. He had gotten into several disagreements with his sister Jessi, who was significantly more mature than the Defender, but it blew over every time.

During that timespan, Formido had noticed that Furorem was becoming more and more mentally unstable with each battle, becoming more and more bloodthirsty. Formido would find Furorem, in his spare time, mutilating mobs with a bored look on his face, which scared him. And Formido noticed that Furorem had glowing white eyes with no pupil, almost like Herobrine.

Formido knew, deep down, that Furorem was no longer a friend, but someone who was darkened by his lust for war, bloodshed, and death. Formido was desperate to not be alone, not when he's been with Furorem for five years.

But even he wasn't so foolish to continue following Furorem when the latter killed Jessi.

Jesse could remember the day as clearly as if the day was today. It all started when Furorem had pulled Formido aside in a grove of trees to lay out a plan. Much to Formido's dawning horror, it was about Furorem taking control of the Warlords. Given his temperament, Furorem, Formido knew, would end up sending the students who aren't ready into the battlefield, ultimately destroying the Warlords.

"I can't let you do this," Formido said firmly, standing his ground.

Furorem's eyes narrowed into slits as he glowered at the 14-year-old. Now 21, his height was massive, towering over the Defender. "Oh? And why's that?"

Formido shut up his emotions in his head, keeping his face only showing rage. "You'll kill the students by throwing them into the battle," he accused.

Furorem snorted. "Why would they die? After all, _you_ had coped."

Formido was enraged by Furorem's dismissal. "Leave my accomplishments out of this," he hissed. "I've nothing to do with them. Yes, we graduated early, but only because we're prodigies. _They_ aren't."

Furorem growled, "Pathetic fool! Do you _really_ care about those runts?" He thrust his face into Formido's, the fire in his eyes now an inferno. "They are nothing but pawns for our conquest."

Formido shoved Furorem away, who looked shocked at his counterpart's transparent rebellion. Formido was also shocked that he had done that (risking Furorem's fury), but he kept his face impassive. "So that's what this is to you. A game that needs to sacrifice the vulnerable to get what you want." Formido turned away in disgust. "We're done here," he growled.

Formido began to stalk away, enraged at himself for not noticing Furorem's true nature earlier. He seethed inwardly at the naiveness of his younger self. _I should've left him when I had the chance!_ He continued fuming until a sudden thought struck him. He stopped in his tracks. _What if Furorem targets Jessi because of _me_?_

_No no no._ Formido dismissed the thought. _He may be insane, but he can't be _that _heartless._

_Right?_

Jesse knew that he was being stupid, but Formido wanted so desperately to believe that Furorem wouldn't actually resort to murder because of a disagreement.

It wasn't until that night when he was sorely mistaken.

He had gotten back to the makeshift home where Jessi lived. Immediately, he could tell something was wrong. The lights were on, yet… The hair on Formido's neck rose forebodingly. He approached the little hut cautiously. As he was going to turn the doorknob, a scream shattered the calm night. Formido whipped his head around, straining his ears. His heart dropped into his stomach. That-that was Jessi!

Without thinking, Formido whipped around the hut to the backyard of the makeshift shelter. What greeted his eyes was a horror that Formido could only imagine.

Furorem held a nethersteel katana to Jessi's throat, a firestorm raging in his eyes. Open wounds dripped crimson liquid (_Blood, so much blood-_) from Jessi, splattering on the ground. Jessi locked eyes with Formido. "Jason-!" she choked out before Furorem plunged his other katana into her abdomen.

Jesse couldn't remember whether or not he screamed that night, but the next thing he remembered was him cradling his sister's dead body, her eyes glazed with death. _Blood, blood, so much blood…_ The crimson liquid flowed from her body onto him, but he didn't care. He might've cried, he might've not, but he remembered Furorem's dismissive comment next that propelled Formido into a rage.

"Heh. The high-and-mighty Formido, reduced to a sniveling wimp by the death of an insignificant girl."

Jesse couldn't remember exactly what he'd done to Furorem; all he could recall was the flashes of blood, as well as the howl of agony. The next cohesive thing he remembered was when he stood over the insane warrior, Formido's weapon dripping with the Berserker's blood. Furorem's face was disfigured by the fresh slash Formido had dealt onto him. Formido's own neck had a slash, but the pain was held back by the tide of adrenaline that was coursing through him.

Even though he was at Formido's mercy, Furorem seemed content on going against the Defender. He spat out blood, his disfigured face twisting into a sneer. "What now, _Formido?_" he mocked. "What're you gonna do now? Hand me over to the authorities? Whatcha gonna do, huh?"

Formido masked his face into impassiveness. "Nothing."

Furorem looked taken aback. "Come again?"

"Nothing," Formido repeated emotionlessly. "I'll let the Warlords deal with you."

The Berserker scoffed, glowering at Formido with those glowing eyes. "Oh please. Those senile hags can't even lay a scratch on me. I'm the most powerful Warrior of them all!"

Formido shook his head with disgust. "We're done, Furorem." He turned and began walking away.

"Or is it?" the Berserker challenged. "After all, you can't blame me for your sister's death. _You're_ the one who decided her fate."

That comment stopped Formido in his tracks. Guilt swirled within him. _He's right. I was the one who decided to go against Furorem. Because of _me_, Jessi's dead._ Grief weighed him down. If he stayed here, he would forever be haunted by his sister's blood, staining the ground. The blood on _his_ hands. He decided it best if he left…and never return to this world. Ever again. He began walking away from the insane Berserker, for once not looking back.

"What, are you running from me?" Furorem's voice rose to a roar. "You will _never_ be able to run from me, Formido! _Never!_ DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

Formido continued on, ignoring Furorem's rants until it soon faded away in the distance. He looked up, locking eyes with a paladin. The paladin looked to only be about 10, with leather armor indicating he was only a student.

The paladin froze, his eyes wide with awe, and he raced over to the young Warlord. "F-Formido," he stammered. Formido flinched at the name, but the knight didn't seem to notice. "It's an honor to meet you in person."

"What's your name?" Formido asked hoarsely. He winced at the sound of his voice. _Must've screamed too loud._

"S-Soldier."

_Huh. What an odd name._ Formido shook his head, directing his gaze at the young Warlord. "Look, there's a dangerous Berserker back there-" He pointed back to the hut. "-about a hundred blocks away. I've overpowered him, but I need you to tell the Warlords, or a messenger."

"Really?" His eyes stretched wide. "Who was he?"

Formido glanced away, fidgeting nervously. "That's not important. Go find your teacher or someone."

The paladin frowned. "But…why can't _you_ do it?"

_Because I don't want to be here more than I have to be._ Aloud, he answered, "I think you're up for the job."

The paladin perked up. "Really?"

"Of course." Formido glanced behind him nervously, a habit he has when he doesn't want to talk extensively. "Besides, I gotta go somewhere."

"Where're you going?"

"Mission," Formido said vaguely, hoping that the paladin won't ask where.

Luckily, Soldier seemed to buy it. He saluted. "Yessir. I won't let you down."

Formido chuckled sadly, watching the young knight scramble away. "I know you won't." He knew that Soldier would grow up to be a fine young paladin. He would be more competent than he himself was. As soon as his train of thought went that way, he pushed it away, lest the tide of grief overwhelm him again.

He continued hobbling for who-knows-how-long until he reached his prize. He looked up, examining the swirling mess of purple that signified a portal. He cast one last glance over his shoulder before leaping through with one last thought.

_Jeremiah and Formido are dead._

* * *

The first time he met his new friends was when he was being chased by a zombie. The now-nameless teen found it ironic that he met his new friends the same way he met Fur-no, Brine. _Brine_ was his friend. Not Furorem.

He had hidden his armor deep in an underground base that he vowed to never unlock until there was a world-ending threat. He had bought new clothes to disguise him further; a white button-up shirt with jeans and red suspenders.

The problem was, his gash was still unattended to, continuing to bleed, attracting zombies

And here he was.

Unable to run, he could only shut his eyes and pray that the zombies made his death painless and quick. He had a moment to reflect on how his first encounter he wanted to live when he heard a yell and felt a gust of wind as the zombie gave a dying groan.

He opened his eyes to see a red-haired girl with a blue-striped bandanna tied on her head offer a hand. "You took quite the fall," she remarked. The nameless teen flinched at how eerily similar the statement was when he first met Brine. "What's your name, kid?" she asked. From the sound of it, she wasn't much older than he was, but he bet he'd been through more than she had.

He opened his mouth…and hesitated. _Jeremiah belonged to the boy before Furorem. Formido was a killer who let Furorem murder his sister._

_Jessica._

_Jessi._

_Jesse._

"Jesse," he replied, accepting the girl's hand. "My name's Jesse."

"Jesse, huh?" The girl cocked an eyebrow. "Nice name. Derpy, but nice. Name's Petra." Her eyes flicked somewhere below his chin, and she frowned. With a start, Jesse realized that he was still bleeding. "Looks like the zombie did a number on ya, huh?" She took his hand and led him away. "C'mon, I know some friends who could help with that."

There was a _lot_ to do in order to help him settle back into regular, non-battling life. He had to pretend he didn't know how to fight, for one. For another, he had to pretend he didn't have any knowledge of outside worlds, etc. But he knew one thing for sure now:

_I am no longer Jeremiah nor Formido. I am Jesse and only Jesse._

* * *

Jesse flashed back to the Witherstorm. Now that he thought about it, it was _obvious_ that he should've pulled out his armor from that underground cave and stopped the Witherstorm with his powers. It would've been so easy to just let its power flow in him once more, to reveal himself and save _everyone_.

But then where would've that taken him?

If he chose to reveal himself, reveal himself as an all-powerful person, one that _seemed_ to rival the fabled Admins, then the people would fear him. Or use him.

He was done being used by people.

Jesse's eyes wandered to an old photo that he'd forgotten he'd hung in his room. He slowly got up from the bed and made his way over.

He remembered that photo quite clearly. It was the day in which he and Furorem had fended off an entire zombie horde from a village he had forgotten its name. But that...that was one of the short-lived happy times he has had.

Jesse smiled sadly as he traced Brine's toothy grin. Back then, they weren't known as Formido the Guardian and Furorem the Bloodthirsty. Back then, they were just kids who dreamed of glory and heroism.

Back then, they were different people.

Jesse jumped as the door to his room creaked open. He whirled around to find Lukas poking his head into his room. "Jesse? Petra's here, and-" The blond blinked. "Whatcha looking at?"

Jesse suddenly realized he was holding the photo, but he made no move to put it down either. "Just some photo," he responded vaguely. Lukas crept in and peeked at the photo over Jesse's shoulder.

"That's you when you were younger," Lukas guessed. He turned a teasing gaze on Jesse. "Still haven't lost the chubbiness in your cheeks, I see."

"Ha ha ha," Jesse snarked sarcastically.

Lukas laughed, turning his gaze back to the paper. Jesse noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that Lukas' smile faltered. "Who's that?" the blond asked, jabbing a finger at Brine.

Jesse swallowed hard, steeling his voice into an emotionless tone. "Just someone I once knew," he responded, gently putting the photo back onto the shelf.

Lukas was staring at him with a searching gaze, but much to Jesse's relief, he didn't ask. "Well, c'mon," the blond finally urged, his warm smile back in place. He walked out of the room. "Petra wants to see you.'

Jesse cast one last look at his photo, grief and sadness swirling in his chest, before gently shutting the door with a _click._

* * *

**A/N Welp. That's it, folks.**

**This is just a reference for any story that refers to Jesse as Formido, so that you know the backstory. Then I thought to myself, ****_Why not try to make it, like, a oneshot that has Jesse reflecting back to his past?_**

**And boom!**

**Thanks for reading guys! I know I deleted ****_The Darkness Within_****, but only because I thought people were 1 bored, and 2 I lost interest.**

**But I'm gonna try to make a new story with a different AU, and we'll go from there.**

_This won't be the last time you'll see of Formido...or Furorem._


End file.
